


Comraderie

by ReticentResolve



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Thief (Video Game 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bribery, Crossover, Enemies to Allies, Enemies to Friends, Secrets, Slow Burn, Templars, The Primal - Freeform, This's gonna take a while..., Travel, assassinations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2018-12-06 17:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11605122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReticentResolve/pseuds/ReticentResolve
Summary: Garrett had always been a man of mind. Altair, a man of action. Neither let their words speak for them, and neither cared to. Perhaps that lack of speech is why Garrett went on a job he knew little about. Perhaps it was because the City had left him with so many worrying memories that he didn't know what to make of them. Or perhaps it was that long lost sense of adventure kicking in at the worst time possible.Though perhaps he would have reconsidered had he known what he would be getting himself into.





	1. Prologue

Comraderie.

Prologue.

 

I'm in a garden. There're...there're women surrounding me. Seemingly instinctively, I count seven. My eyes have hardly time to scan the surroundings. But enough to catch a dark figure somehow near invisible against the bright sun. 

"I abide my thought to no wisdom." A deep voice echoes in some strange way I feel only I can hear. "And to man the same folly." Suddenly I feel my body lurch, stumbling against one of the women who shrinks away in something akin to disgust. "I perceive that this was else the chasing of the wind. With much knowledge is much grief." I can't help but notice the dark figure looking at me in confusion, their head cocked to one side. "And he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.

And I'm in a square in a city. How? Looking around again, I find the same dark figure, scrunched in on himself before noticing my gaze, giving me the same look from before. A type of exaggerated concern. "Altair?" He asks in a breathy, deep voice. He seems to be the only thing that is detailed enough to identify.

"We've got a problem! I can't anchor him to the memory. Too much psychological trauma. He's rejecting the treatment. Retreating." The voice sounds female.

"Desmond, I need you to try and relax." A man now?

"Focus. Listen to the sound of my voice. Recognize that what you are seeing isn't real. Just a picture from the past. It can't hurt you."

"Dammit! It's not working."

"Give it a moment Ms. Stillman... Hell adjust. The first time is never easy."

"We're losing him!" The female voice echoes as even the man in front of me- who I had always seen crystal clear -blurs into nothingness.

"That's enough Ms. Stillman!"

"We need to pull him out. Now."

"Alright, Desmond. We're going to try and bring you out now."

* * *

It was a sort of uncomfortable, tense silence that Lucy and the Doctor worked in. Each were invested in the problems they had experienced, though for different reasons. "Doctor..." Lucy breaks in. "Who was that man in black?"

"I can't answer that question Ms. Stillman." The doctor responds, more civil than his normal tone he would address her with. "He was in none of the records we have. Although..."

"Although?" Lucy inquires, looking up from her computer display.

"He seems to fit the description of a well known criminal of the time." The doctor continues, handing a piece of paper printed work an ancient drawing.

"The Master Thief..."


	2. First Impressions (Are Not The Last)

Comraderie.  
Chapter One: First Impressions (Are not the last)

A job. A job is why Garrett was tracking across the sun-baked landscape on a pitch black horse he had quickly commandeered from a stable he had found along his path. He didn’t have much practice on horses, but the only thing that mattered to him was that it made his journey that much quicker.

Normally he wouldn’t take a job that required him to travel outside of the city. But some fat cat had offered him some absurd amount of money to deliver a bunch of documents from these people they had just called the assassins. Luckily they had had the foresight to give a map and directions.

Not to mention that it gave him a sort of excuse to get out of the city and away from the Gloom for a bit. Too much that happened in too little time. Two months later and he felt the need to go somewhere that had no memories attached to it.

So here he was, hood up and cape fluttering as he tried to both look inconspicuous as possible and to not find himself coming down with a form of heat exhaustion or dehydration.

Really, the only thing that was working in his favor was that his outfit was not noticeably armored, and so did not consistently draw the attention of the guards. So long as he didn't ride the horse faster than a trot.

The dryness in Garrett’s mouth was beginning to become unbearable when the tall grayish-white castle surrounded by a seemingly poverty-stricken district came in to sight. “Mm.” Garrett mutters under his breath, in compliance to an old habit he had developed. “That must be my target then.” He almost has to spit out, voice hoarse and throat protesting with a deep-seated tingle.

Shaking his head, he resolves himself to find some sort of liquid. Shouldn't be too hard. He has a flask or two on his person, and while they were meant for alcohol, he would rather avoid that unless it were the last possible option. Not only did alcohol not in quench his actual or metaphorical thirst, but Garrett had never been a fan of mentality changing substances.

“Sir.” A masculine voice interrupts Garrett’s inner monologue, a hand being placed on the thief’s leg, Garrett hardly stopping his hand from landing on his blackjack. “Horses are not allowed past this point.” He says before redirecting Garrett’s horse to where several others are tied to a public sort of checkpoint in which the horses of travelers are roped. “Tie her up here, she'll be here when you get back.”

Garrett answers with a nod. Though the guards seems to not care. It was almost refreshing to be somewhere he was not under constant suspicion. The only problem with this situation was that it was still daytime. Every moment out in this story of light was nerve-wracking. Every time he came within a meter of a shadow, he felt the near uncontrollable urge to dash for it.

It only took a minute or so to tie the black mare to the pole, a thick piece of twine connecting the pole and the reins.

The first task, of course, was to scout his new area. He needed a good escape plan before he went in for his target. It would always be his first order of business to learn of his surroundings. Once he got in was another story entirely. Once he got there, he would improvise.

From what he saw of the architecture of this place, it seems it would be easier to climb along the walls. There were overhanging bricks and logs, balconies made for hanging laundry (or thieves), and quite deep windows. Though Garrett would try not to climb along those. They seemed the most risky, as a civilian would be able to easily look out and alert the guards. Even with those out off limits, the mobility here was so much greater than he was used to. Already he could tell he would either be at a great advantage or disadvantage.

A small smile made it’s way onto his lips as he caught sight of several barrels of fresh water. In a dark, secluded area of the district.

They were making this to easy.

* * *

 

Altair growls out a soft curse as he finally stepped through the familiar gate to Masyaf. He’d have returned sooner, but the horse he had left in the care of the stables had mysteriously disappeared, according to the old man who ran it. They just said it was there one moment and gone the next.

With another shake of his head, Altair behind to make his way to the palace. It might have taken longer, and not resulted how he would have liked, but he still had to report to his master, better known as Al Mualim.

Altair was never the best when it came to people. His motto was to get in, do his job, and get out. The less people he came in contact with, the better.

And so it was not much of a shock that after he left the crowds fire the dark alleyways he was more comfortable in, and still found people in his way, he shoved the slight individual further into the wall. “Out of my way.” Normally, he would restrain from active like these, but irritation builds up through the day.

Suddenly, a slight tug on his coinpurse draws his attention, a hand flying back to land on a leather covered worst, eyes meeting the two mismatched ones of the man he'd shoved.

“You-“ Altair begins, grip tightening threateningly before he suddenly finds a hard object shaking onto his hand, temporarily loosening his grip just long enough for the thief to retreat, white coinpurse in hand.

The thief says nothing, and doesn't wait for Altair either, immediately saint away, seeming to melt into the sparse shadows. Altair growls, chasing after the leather boots clad man in earnest, his white clothing seeming to draw more attention to the chase than the thief seems comfortable with.

He seemed almost…alarmed, hugging the shadows further and further, Altair finding it strangely harder to keep his eyes on him.

“Get back here!” Altair yells, drawing his sword, and apparently drawing the eye of the thief, who hardly ways to see Altair’s next actions, throwing himself atop a building, a strange item hooking itself onto the roof which he uses to pull himself up as Altair grabs hold of a windowsill next to the thief's path.

He barely caught a glimpse of the black cape before he gave chase, throwing himself down the building to find the thief attempting to hide in the shadows that stretched out from the very building he was sitting on, looking out at the crowd from his crouch.

The thief barely had time to take four steps before he found a sword at his throat. “Do you know what the punishment is for stealing?” Altair snarls, grabbing hooks of the thief's small hands, his thin, lithe fingers curling in almost defense as he's held towards the assassin no matter his struggle.

“Altair!” A familiar voice shots, Rauf running over to his fellow assassin's side. “We need your help!”

“What has happened?” Altair asks, not losing his grip on the thief despite the tugs and the occasional hit from the same strange object as before.

“Templars. They are on route for the village.” Rauf answers, not bothering to question his ally on the man in his grip. “Our people are evacuating but they need more time. Please, we need you to distract them.”

“As you wish.” Altair reasons, snatching his coinpurse back from the thief, who looked thoroughly ready to flee. “Here.”

Altair snatches a length of rope from the side of the house they were standing next to, tying the thief's hands together much tighter than he knows it's necessary. “Pass him on to a guard. The man's a thief.”

Rauf nods. It would be dangerous for a thief to be wandering around now. “You there!” He yells, waving a guard over as Altair runs further into the village. “Take this man to the jail cells.”

“Yessir.”

* * *

 

Garrett had no plans to be stuck in a jail cell for good knows how long. But there was something to be said about planning ahead. Obviously, the jails would be within the castle, this guard would be his safe passage into the place he needed to be. He would just have to wait for the right moment.

Honestly, this palace seemed more secure than most of the places he breaks into. Whoever had designed this had certainly planned for a contingency like this.

It didn't take long for an opportunity to present itself. The guards had stopped a bit into the dungeons to light a torch, probably just so he would be able to see the stairs. But Garrett was not known for his sympathetic nature. And so he kneed the guard in the back of the leg, the guard falling to his knees with a grunt, obviously surprised. Before he can react to it though, his head is kicked into the wall, quickly rendering him unconscious.

With a derisive smirk, Garrett slips a knife off of the Guard’s belt, his tied hands nearly coming in contact with the edge several times before he manages to free them from the harsh twine confines. “Damn.” Garrett mutters as he softly rubs his sore wrists, soft chafe marks against where the rope had met his bare skin. Luckily it was no where that would hinder him climbing.

After quickly dragging the guard deeper into the shadows (refraining from tossing him down the stairs), Garrett glances out the door they had entered from. There were dozens of citizens taking shelter here, a small ray of orange sunlight streaming through, effectively informing Garrett the sun was setting. Certainly not a bad thing. Shadows stretch the most when the sun falls.

Good thing was, with the people distracted by their current siege, they were less likely to keep an eye out for a thief in their midst.

So it took next to no effort to make his way over to the stairs and hook his way onto the railing, quickly going into the shadows that had been spread across the entire room by the enormous doors.

Luckily, the client had informed him that the documents would not be stored as the rest were, so Garrett was able to disregard the many bookshelves that were pulled along each side of the upper level.

It was a very good thing to, as Garrett wasn't sure even he would be able to stay hidden that long. There were hundreds after all, it would take all night. So he makes his way as invisible as possible to the desk surrounded by many less bookshelves than the rest.

“Hm. A vault under the desk.” Garrett mutters, quickly kneeling by the desk, lockpicks in hand. “I'm going to guess my targets in there.”

Obviously the people here didn't have much trouble with thieves. The vault hardly had a three Tumbler lock, one that Garrett made quick work of, the satisfying click of the safe unlocking followed by the thief’s deft hands slipping it open.

Followed by a very unnerving shink sound, Garrett looking behind himself to find a quite old gentleman holding a sword to his neck. That seems to be happening quite a bit more these days.

“I'm impressed.” The man says, frowning and smirking down at the thief who had slipped a paper and a ring into a pocket he had knit into his cape. “You do know that those documents will bring us all nothing but pain?”

“Your people’s pain does not concern me.” Garrett replies, weight activating his eye and looking around the room. “I care about my pay.”

“Indeed.” The old man says, lowering his sword but keeping it ready. “But there is a difference between indifference and condemnation.” The man's eyes scan Garrett's face. “you are different.” He says, grabbing Garrett by the jaw.

Garrett hardens his face. “Many people are different.” He growls, putting a hand on his blackjack.

“But you have power.” The old man says. Garrett twitches. “A power that the Templars are fully ready to exploit.”

“How do you know these things?” Garrett asks, brow lowering and eyes narrowing.

“I have heard about you before, Master Thief.” The old man continues, sheathing his sword and tossing a piece of paper to the thief, Garrett’s eyes narrowing at the familiar wanted poster.

“The Templars are not your allies, young man.” The old man continues even daring to turn his back to the thief.

Normally he would not hesitate, but Garrett was…intimidated. He had seen firsthand the damage of the Primal brought on. He was not willing to let it happen again. Although…Garrett was not a trusting individual.

“I want information”

“And you will get it.” The old man says, glancing out the window where the fight continues to rage. “But I must first take care of my uninvited guests. I will return soon enough.”

Garrett pauses. “I will be watching you.” His suspicion was not sated. And it seems the old man knew it.

“As expected.” The old man answers as he begins on his way to the stairs. “Be sure you do not interfere.”

* * *

 

“Stand on that platform, Altair.” Rauf instructs, motioning to a wooden plank settled on the edge of the tower they and one other stood upon.

“Heretic!” A Templar roars as Altair settles on the edge of the plank. “Return what you have stolen from me!” Briefly, Altair wonders what he’s yelling about. He had failed in his mission, what did the Templars have stolen?

“Rauf, what is he speaking of?” Altair asks, voice soft.

“You don't know?” Rauf asks, Altair shaking his head. “Malik return several hours ago with the artifact. He told the master what you did, Altair.” He answers, a small bit of worry showing through his words.

“I did what I could to accomplish my goal. I did nothing wrong.” Altair answers, looking back down to the exchange below him, Rauf sighing in exasperation next to him.

“Your village lays in ruins and your stores are hardly endless! How long before your fortress crumbles from within?” The Templar yells at Al Mualim. “How disciplined will your men remain when the wells run dry and their food is gone?”

“My men do not fear death, Robert!” Al Mualim yells back, Altair cocking his head slightly.

“So he followed me then…”

“They welcome it and the rewards it brings!”

“Good!” Robert retorts. “Then they shall have it!”

“Follow me.” Rauf interrupts, voice still soft and glancing discreetly at Altair and his companion. “And do so without hesitation.”

Suddenly, Al Mualim turns his gaze to his assassins on the tower. “Show these fool Knights what it is to have no fear! Go to god!”

Altair looks down, a pile of hay several feet from the end of the plank, just low enough that the troops couldn't see them once they landed.

Altair nods his head, closes his eyes, and jumps, hearing his two companions do the same.

* * *

 

Garrett let's out a small noise of disapproval as the three so-called assassins jump from their perches. He had considered, over and over again, running from this place. But something about the old man reminded him of the Queen of Beggars. He knew something he wasn't sharing. Something that likely would only make things more complicated.

The thief sighs, readjusting his perch atop one of the cabinets, retying the bag that held the documents and a small decorative necklace he had found hidden in a book along with a letter about a proposal.

“I'm sure she'll love how he tied the knot.” Garrett snickers as he turns back to the window, pausing with a look of confusion, making eye contact with the same man in white as before, atop a tower with his sword ready. Slowly, he makes a silent gesture. But Garrett knows the meaning. “I'm next.” He chuckles, shaking his head. The man may have caught him once, but it was close to night now. Now Garrett had the advantage.

He could hardly help the smirk on his lips as he activates his eye, the logs that fell from the tower fluttering a soft blue as they plowed down what he had to assume were the Templars.

“Perhaps I gave them too little credit.” Garrett mutters, unable to forget the fact that he is in a palace fill of assassins. He would have to never let be his guard down. Luckily, with all the white they wear, it's easy to avoid them.

Still, best to be prepared. Garrett reminds himself as he scans the room that he can see, again looking for any escape routes he missed.

* * *

 

Altair watches with eyes sharp for any sort of movement. After seeing the thief here earlier, he had made his master's room his first stop.

“You did well to drive Robert from here. His force is broken. It should be a long while before he troubles us again.” Al Mualim says as Altair makes his way into his master's room. He nods his head to acknowledge the praise. “Tell me, do you know why it is you are successful? You listened! Were out that you had listened in Soloman's Temple, Altair, all of this would have been avoided.”

“I did as I was asked.” Altair retorts through grit teeth.

“No. You did as you pleased.” Al Mualim corrects as he stands from his desk. “The others told me of the arrogance you displayed- your disregard for our ways!”

Seemingly from nowhere, at least within Altair’s sight, two assassins grab his arms, effectively disabling him. “What are you doing?” Altair demands. From above, Garrett watches in honest curiosity.

“There are rules.” Al Mualim answers. “We are nothing if we do not abide by the Assassin’s Creed. Three simple tenants, which you seem to forget.” He pauses for a moment. “I will remind you. First and foremost, stay you blade-“

“From the flesh of an innocent. I know.” Altair interrupts, only to be met with the back of his master's hand.

“And stay you tongue!” Al Mualim yells, seemingly coming closer to his wits end. “Unless I give you leave to use it. If you are so familiar with this tenant, then why did you look the old man inside the temple? He was innocent! He did not need to die. Your insolence knows no bounds. Be mindful of your heart child, or I swear I will test it from you with my own hands. The second tenant is that which gives us strength. Hide in plain sight. Let the people mask you such that you become one with the crowd. Do you remember?! Because as I hear it, you choose to expose yourself, drawing attention before you stick!” Al Mualim pauses a moment in his rant. “The third and final tenant…the worst of all your betrayals. Never compromise the Brotherhood. It's meaning should be obvious. Your actions must never bring harm upon us- direct or indirect! Yet your selfish act beneath Jerusalem placed us all in danger! Worse still, you brought the enemy to our home! Every man we list today was lost because of you!” Another short pause, and a blade is drawn. The same blade earlier pressed to Garrett's throat. “I am sorry…I truly am. But I cannot abide a traitor.”

“I am not a traitor!”Altair defends, tugging slightly on his allies home on his arms.

“Your actions indicate otherwise. And so you leave me no choice. Peace be upon you, Altair.” He finishes with a lunge, his blade plunging into his subordinate’s chest. As soon as the body falls limp into the assassins arms, they set him down. “Bring a healer.”

The assassins nod respectfully and leave.

“You send many mixed messages, old man.” Garrett says as soon as he's sure they’re alone.

“So you stayed.” Al Mualim answers, a small smile gracing his face.

“You promised me information. I didn't intend for you to go back on your word.” Garrett explains with a pointed look that assures he'd be robbed blind if he'd lied.

“Neither did I.” Al Mualim answers, briefly stopping to give his bird a soft two. “your name, Master Thief?”

“Forgive me if I don't think that’s wise.” Garrett answers.

Al Mualim chuckled softly. He was used to dealing with types like him. “As expected.” He says with some degree of mirth in his voice. “Tell me, Master Thief, do you know who the Templars are?”

“I've had a few run-ins, yes.” Garrett answers, getting an inquisitive look in return. “They have quite the stuffed collars.”

Normally Al Mualim would disapprove of such talk of thievery. But this is the talk of the thievery of his sworn enemies. “they are a monastic order, focused on reforming the world as they see fit.” Al Mualim explains. “They believe people need purpose, order, and control, that people should not be allowed the right of their own freedom.”

There's a slight twitch in Garrett now. “Sir.” Another assassin Greta, Garrett instinctively scooting quickly to one side. The assassin looked like the rest, only the swords and knives were replaced by packages and pouches, likely filled with medicinal items, considering Al Mualim a healer.

“Your patient.” Al Mualim says, motioning to Altair looking Paket by the moment. The assassin nods and gets to work. “Am I to assume you don't agree with their ideology?”

“Lack of free will seems to directly cross with my line of work.” Garrett replies, still keeping himself flat against a bookshelf. “Makes for less targets.”

“Then I believe we're on the same page.” Al Mualim nods, eyes closed as he sits back down. “I’ve heard of the primal before, Master Thief. Although I’ve not heard of anyone with your condition before.”

“How do you know my conditions?” Garrett asks, eyes narrowed. “There are few that do, even in the City.”

“I have my sources. As do the Templars.” Al Mualim says, looking back up at the slight man who had finally peeled himself off of the bookcase, glancing at the Healer who was not looking in their direction at all. “That’s why they hired you to steal are intel.”

“And just want is this all important intel on?” Garrett asks, taking the documents out of his pocket.

“You.”

“…Me.” Garrett repeats incredulously.

“Yes. They were obviously concerned about someone else using your power.” He noticed the narrowing of Garrett’s eyes.

“They plan to the Primal to create a perfect world.” Garrett softly mutters, a hand almost creeping to another pocket hidden in his belt, specifically named for the Primal Stone. After everything that had happened, he found he could hardly even trust his Safe Haven in the Clocktower. He had decided to carry in the Primal on his person. “It seems all everyone wants to do is save the world.”

“They all have their own methods. Just as you do, Master Thief.” Al Mualim says, finally remaining in his seat. “Though I do believe that we both can agree that the Templars are what are known as the wrong hands.”

“You are not wrong.” Garrett answers, sauntering a bit closer to Al Mualim. “Though I am not inclined to ally myself to ones known as assassins.”

“A label only, Master Thief.” Al Mualim answers. “Rest assured we Target only those who must be eliminated for the good of others.”

“A defense many have made.” Garrett retorts darkly. “And one I have heard many times. None who made it were spared the hangman’s noose.”

“Marladi Amdam.” Al Mualim interrupts.

Garrett cocks a brow.

“A noble of Jerusalem, the mistresses, sixty-four slaves. On the fifteenth night of the summer solstice, he'd planned a party, one in which each of his female slaves were to be used as objects. The males 'put down' as he put it. He would continue to do so until he was authorized control over the northern half of the slave market. A day before, he was found dead in his quarters, his slaves nowhere to be found.” Al Mualim finishes.

“Sir.” The medic says, standing from Altair’s prone body. “He is stitched and bandaged, he should wake tomorrow morning.”

“You are dismissed.” Al Mualim near demands.

Several minutes of silence ensued before Garrett spoke up. “I have conditions.”

“As do I.”

“You will not inquire about my past experiences.”

“Anything other than experiences with the Primal do not concern me.” Al Mualim agrees.

“I am I am not to be considered in Assassin by anyone.”

“I will assure rumors of such will be quashed.” Al Mualim agrees once more.

“Your agents will not interfere in my…business.” Garrett finishes.

“Do any degree in which it does not harm them personally. I will not permit your stealing from Masyaf, however.”

“Then I believe we have an accord.” Garrett nods. “Your terms.”

“Just two.” Al Mualim starts. “You will assist Altair in his future task.”

“Which is…?” Garrett asks.

“To be revealed when he wakes.”

“…Very well.” Garrett says, a bit of hesitance in his voice. He was not too fond of taking jobs he didn’t know of. “The second?”

“Your name.” Al Mualim states.

“…” Garrett hesitates once more. “Garrett.”

“I believe our deal is complete then.” He says, standing again to offer a hand to the slight male. “Garrett. I am known as Al Mualim.”

Garrett nods, taking the larger hand in his own. “A pleasure, I hope.”


	3. Trust is a Fickle Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I get the feeling you don't trust me.” Garrett says sarcastically, voice muffled from behind his mask.
> 
> “I don't.” Altair growls, seemingly annoyed at Garrett's sarcasm.
> 
> “Good, neither do I.” Garrett replies.
> 
> “Then we’re on the same page.”

Chapter Two.  
Trust is a Fickle Thing.

Altair wakes with a sudden jolt, glancing around to find himself in the familiar library, lying on the sigil he had been stabbed on what seemed like just a moment ago. “I am...alive...” He whispers, placing his hand in his chest. “But I saw you stab me, felt death’s embrace!”

“You saw what I wanted you to see. And then you slept the sleep of the dead.” Al Mualim explains, standing and allowing Garrett to slip into the shadows, he didn't question it. He seemed the type to observe rather than partake. “Of the womb. That you might awake, and be reborn.”

“To what end?” Altair asked, face inquisitive and a bit confused.

“Do you remember, Altair.” Al Mualim asks, pacing quite slowly back and forth. “What the assassins fight for?”

“Yes, in all things! It is not enough to end the violence one man commits upon another.” Within the shadows, Garrett cocks his head to one side, listening with a small amount of curiosity. “It refers to peace within as well. We cannot have one without the other.”

“So it is said.” Altair with a hand placed on his chin, the only part of his face that was fully visible.

“So it is! But you my son, have not found inner peace! It manifests in ugly ways! You are arrogant and over confident.” Al Mualim retorts.

“Were you not the one to say 'nothing is true and everything is permitted?'”

“You do not understand the true meaning of the please, my child. It does not grant you the freedom to do as you wish, it is a knowledge meant to guide your senses. It expects a wisdom you clearly lack!”

“Then what is to become of me?” Altair and, Garrett finding himself watching the assassin more intently. Average build, string asthma. Likely good at climbing, but making a bit in abdominal strength. From what he could see if his face, he looked a few years younger than Garrett.

“I should look kill you, but your talent cannot be wasted. It will be sorely needed in the days to come. You will be stripped of your position and ranks, you are as you were when you joined the order, a child. I am offering you and him a chance to prove yourselves loyal to the Brotherhood.” Garrett would have been irate if he didn't plan to leave the moment he grew suspicious of their motives.

“Him?” Altair asks, legitimately surprised. The only assassins who worked with others are the lowest of novices or the highest of seniors.

Garrett warily steps from the shadows, the discomfort visible on his face as he’d lowered his scarf some time ago. “We meet again.” Garrett says, a bit of a snarky time to his voice.

“What?!” Altair yells, forgetting for a moment the position he was in. “You expect this pickpocket to help the Brotherhood?!”

“The terms of our agreement have been negotiated.” Al Mualim cuts in, breaking off the impending argument. “You must show me that you know how to work with others, that you remember how to be an assassin.”

“So you would have me join forces with a common cutthroat?” Altair asks, Garrett unphased by his insult.

“A cutthroat he may be, but he has demonstrated far better understanding and execution of the tenets than you.” He nods to Garrett who had not so much as twitched since his reveal.

“So you would have me take a life.” Altair asks, though keeps his suspicious eyes on Garrett.

“No. Not yet.” Al Mualim corrects. “for now you are to become a student once again.”

“There is no need for this.” Altair hastily interjects.

Al Mualim ignores his words, motioning for Garrett to stand by Altair. “Others tracked your targets for you. No more. From now on you will track them yourselves.”

“Not my specialty.” Garrett murmurs, Altair making note of the dark tone in his voice.

“If this is what you wish.” Altair nods, giving up on trying to fight this.

“It is.” Al Mualim nods, giving one look to Garrett who responds with a slight nod, more a blink of the eyes and a dip of the head.

“Then tell me what I must do.” Altair agrees a bit dejectedly.

“We have been betrayed. Someone was assisting Robert de Sable- one of our own. You must find him and being him here for questioning.”

“What can you tell me of this traitor?”

“Ah... But that's just it. I've given you all I will. The rest is up to you two.”

With a look that clearly says that he doesn't want to do this, Altair turns and leaves without even looking to see if Garrett is following him.

They hardly managed to step up to the gate leading to the palace before they were stopped. “Safety and peace, Altair.”

“You're in my way!” Altair growls, Garrett rolling his eyes behind him, though it was hardly noticeable with his mask up as it were. If this Altair wanted to prove himself, he should at least make an effort to get along with his allies. Not that Garrett would know about those things.

“Good, then you remember.” Garrett hears, coming out of his reverie, quickly looking back up and noting how bright out it is today.

“Then you’d have me walk amongst the others and learn what I can about the traitor.” Altair names his own quest.

“Yes, begin by going to the village market. That's where we first spotted the traitor.” The unnamed assassin suggests.

“You know who it is?!” Altair growls angrily. Garrett would be equally confused had he not a better understanding of Al Mualim's purpose in this.

“Perhaps.” The assassin answers with a slight smirk.

“Then give me a name and let's be done with it!” Altair more demands than suggests.

“That's not the way it works. Now go, and remember begin your search in the village market.” The assassin reminds unnecessarily before separating from Garrett and Altair.

Altair growls, turning briefly to Garrett. “Just follow me and stay out of my way.”

Garrett rolls his eyes once more. The longer he was around this man, the more he reminded him of Erin. It reminded him why he had dropped her as his apprentice.

And still he followed, if only because he didn't know quite where the marketplace was.

“Stay here. Don't move.” Altair demands as soon as they reach the marketplace. “I'll get this done and you. Will. Not. Move.” He repeats.

“I get the feeling you don't trust me.” Garrett says sarcastically, voice muffled from behind his mask.

“I don't.” Altair growls, seemingly annoyed at Garrett's sarcasm.

“Good, neither do I.” Garrett replies.

“Then we’re on the same page.” Altair ends the conversation, turning his back to the thief with a hand on his previously recovered coinpurse.

With an irritated look, Garrett turns and runs up a building, figure quick and fleet. The marketplace was nothing compared to the streets of The City, but it was much more organized than places he'd come across while on the road.

He quickly caught sight of Altair making his way through the crowd, Garrett jumping as sneakily as possible across the buildings. Perhaps it was a better idea to stay put and not pick a fight, but something told Garrett that just complying with things Altair said would not end well. He seemed the kind of person who would never stop underestimating or mistrusting people. While Garrett could care less, he was assigned a job to do as well. And, unlike Altair, he did not take his job lightly.

“I know what I saw. Masun opened the gate.” Garrett hears, perking up his ears and stopping to see two assassins talking, Altair hidden between two other people on a nearby bench. Garrett couldn't help but chuckle as he rudely shoves off a probing woman.

“Then you must tell Al Mualim.” The second assassin responds.

“I can't!” The first one interjects. “Masun did not act alone. Someone else inside the fortress helped him.”

“What makes you say this?” The second asks, Altair getting up from his seat and turning to go down one alleyway. Garrett scoffed softly.

“He exchanges letters with someone inside. The basket carrier carries them for him.”

“That's no reason to stay silent.” The second assassin reminds.

“Ah, but the weaver delivered him a letter just before the attack. I suspect it held the order to open the gate.”

“Then speak to the weaver! He can name Masun’s accomplice!”

“He disappeared! Hiding for fear of being dragged into this!”

“Heh! Probably inside one of his own baskets!”

“I wouldn't be surprised.” Garrett chuckles, having had many stranger things happen during his many years of thievery.

Altair obviously went after Masun, but he wouldn't have the information to justify his suspicions. Garrett doubted that would stop him, but he figured he ought to make some sort of progress of not to make his time spent with Altair shorter, then to ensure he did not look the fool.

It didn't take much searching for Garrett to find a man surrounded by baskets and talking to a woman. “Is this about the letter?” She asks, Garrett finding a smile suddenly growing on his face. Looks like he made it right in time.

“W-what letter?” The basket carrier asks, panic written clear as day on him.

“The letter you received when I got here.” She reminds unnecessarily as Garrett makes his way to the edge of the building, ensuring that he's as close as he can get to the basket weaver. “Bad news?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” The basket weaver attempts to cover up, rubbing the back of his head and inadvertently stepping closer to Garrett. “Listen, I'll see what I can do, but please, I need to be alone right now. Come back later.”

“As you wish.” The woman says, turning away.

Immediately, Garrett hops from his perch, grabbing a small folded paper from the man's pocket and jumping into one of the shadows stretching from the baskets, already up the wall next to him when he hears the indignant cry of a man who just found something stolen.

“Good to be back in my area of expertise.” Garrett chuckles.

* * *

  
Altair frowned as he followed Masun through the alleyway. After all, he couldn't just outright attack him in public, even without all of the citizens that would see, with the sour mood he was in, it wouldn't end well.

Not only had he lost his position- and all the perks that came with it, but now he had to work with a man who was nothing more than a common thug. Not only that, that thief should have been dead by now. If Rauf hadn’t shown up when he had him in his grasp, he would be missing a limb!

Suddenly, he becomes aware that there is no more commotion around him. They are alone, with little more then the shadows for company. It was finally going to happen. Altair had been waiting for something to punch all day, and he wasn't about to lose his chance now that it had come along.

And then, that irritating shadow flies down from another building, landing straight on Masun's back and knocking him out with one hit of the strange object in his hand.

All of a sudden, Altair couldn't stand it anymore, his anger boiling over, he grabs hold of the thief's cowl, dragging his face closer to his. “Stop interfering!” He yells, likely too loudly. “I thought I told you to remain still!”

“You act to rashly.” Garrett answers, a deep scowl on his face as he shoves the taller man's hand off of his person. “I've dealt with people like you before, Altair, and it never ends well.”

“I have near had enough of you, Thief.” Altair growls, holding his shoulders square and looking down at Garrett, attempting to make their difference in height greater than it already was.

“And I you, Assassin.” Garrett growls back. He normally was not one for confrontation, but this man, this defiled assassin, he was showing all the traits of a man Garrett would want nothing more than to put a blackjack over his head.

“You're one to be talking.” Altair laughs derisively. “ The last time we confronted one another you hardly got away with your hand.”

“You had the advantage of the crowd.” Garrett shoots back. “it’s time is shall not end the same. A thief's home lies in the catwalks on the ramparts.”

“As does the assassin’s.” Altair snarls, going so far as to show his teeth in a show of primal instinct, Garrett attempting to stand straighter, tugging his mask on tighter and furrowing his brow dangerously.

“Be careful who you aggravate.” Garrett threatens, activating his eye and staying directly into Altair's barely visible ones, seeing a slight widening when he sees the blue glow.

“Stop this moronic display!” A voice yells, the two men breaking their glares to look at the unarmed assassin from before who had come up behind Garrett. “Trade one blow and the both of you will be reported to Al Mualim.”

“Yes brother.” Altair says sourly, turning to the still fainted Masun. Garrett nods once, opting for silence.

“Go on then. Al Mualim is waiting for you in the library.” The assassin motions to the palace, both of the former combatants nodding.

Altair kneels by Masun, briefly admitting that Garrett could have done worse with his knockout before picking up the heretic. He then turns back to face the thief. “You will remain in my sight, Thief.”

Not one word was uttered along the way.

* * *

  
Altair and Garrett stood in front of the library balcony, facing where Al Mualim was standing before Masun. “You stand accused of betraying our Brotherhood and opening the way for our enemies. How do you answer to these charges?”

“I deny nothing.” Masun answers, Garrett letting out a slight scoff, learning a deep-seated glare from Altair. “I am proud of what I did! My only regret is that they failed.”

“I offer you a chance to repent... to renounce the evil in your heart.” Al Mualim offers, Garrett finding himself disagreeing with the old man's methods. They were the type that came back to bite you.

Perhaps if Garrett was a more spiritual individual, he would moreso approve, but as it were, he wasn't on the best standing when it came to the idea of gods.

“It is not evil in my heart, but truth!” Masun yells. “I will not repent!”

“Then you will die.” Al Mualim decides, thrusting a blade quickly into the man before him, once again earning him the scrutiny of the thief. “You did well, Altair, and have earned the right to carry a blade once more.” He says as he hands Altair the blade, still wet with the blood of the heretic.

“And what of those who assisted him?” Garrett asks, disapproval clear in his voice. “Will they meet this same fate?”

“That remains to be seen.” Al Mualim answers. “Some do ill out of ignorance or fear. These men can be saved. Others suffer from corrupted wills... Their minds poisoned and twisted. These men must be destroyed. Soon enough we shall see what sort Jamal is.”

“Your test has been passed. What now?” Altair asks, arms crossed and still obviously angry.

“I hold here a list.” Al Mualim answers, bringing up a piece of parchment. “Nine names adorn it. Nine men who need to die. They are plague bringers, war makers. Their power and influence corrupts the land and ensures the crusades continue. You will them. Kill them. In doing so, you sow the seeds of peace. Both for the region and for yourselves.” They all can see the acceptance in Altair’s eyes, and the refusal in Garrett's. “As well as remove men who search for the primal.”

Garrett freezes. Should the primal get into the hands of someone like the thief taker general. Not only would be wind up like Erin, but the world even, could be destroyed. He had no way of knowing the stone’s full potential, but he was not going to take any chances. “I will not murder. I will assist in entry and exit only.”

“Very well.” Al Mualim nods as Altair looks over at Garrett as though he had said he shan’t eat.

“Where do I begin?” Altair asks, Al Mualim taking note of their distinctive lack of referring to themselves as a collective.

“Ride to Damascus. Seek out the black market merchant named Tamir. Let him be the first to fall.” He directs as he takes a carrier pigeon from it’s cage. “Be sure to visit the city’s Assassin Bureau when you arrive. I’ll dispatch a bird to inform Rafiq of your arrival. Speak with him, you'll find he has much to offer.” He allows the bird to take flight.

“If you think it best.” Altair answers, trying his best to sound mild.

“I do. Besides, you cannot begin your mission without his consent.”

“What nonsense is this?!” Altair’s facade is immediately shattered. “I don't need his permission, it’s a waste of time!”

“It's the price you pay for the mistakes you've made! You'll answer not only to me, but to all the Brotherhood as well now.”

Altair silently seethes. Garrett takes a step forward. “Am I to assume I will be getting paid for my services?”

“We are not rewarded upon completion of our duties here, Master Thief.” Al Mualim answers.

“I am not a member of your Brotherhood, Al Mualim.” Garrett answers, Altair glaring at him as he refers to his master by his first name. “And just like the rest of my jobs, I expect compensation.”

Al Mualim does not look too pleased, but still sighs. “Very well, 300 gold ahead will be provided.” Garrett gives him a pleased look as Altair looks ready to snap the thieves neck. “Your equipment.” Al Mualim says, motioning to the longsword in gauntlet like item on the table. “Take it and be on your way.”

As Altair slips on his equipment, finally looking content, Al Mualim speaks again. “And do be respectful to your partner, my child, he is your senior after all.”

It immediately wipes the smile off of Altair's face, as he turns slightly to glance over at the thief who had lowered his mask, a smirk now gracing his dark features.

The two men leave the library in, once more, awkward silence, which seems was not meant to last any longer than before, as the moment they stepped outside, they were greeted by another assassin

“Altair!” He calls, Altair walking closer and Garrett following out of boredom. “It seems my students do not fully understand what it is to wield a blade. Perhaps you can show them what you know.”

Altair seemed to have no complaints, as he unsheathed his newly regained longsword and stepped into the ring. As it were, it seems Garrett judged Altair’s skill based too much on his actions.

The first student hardly lasted the first counter, walking away with a shallow cut and a dirty boot mark on their stomach.

The second didn't fall with the counter, instead rolling back only to have his back meet with the edge of the ring. This one walked away with a bruised head and pulled leg.

The third manage to block the counter, though his success was limited as he soon found his sword on the other side of the ring and a gash along his arm.

“What of you?” The assassin who had approached them asks Garrett. “Shall you demonstrate your skill with the blade?”

“Brilliant idea.” Altair says, challenging look already on his face and smirk on his lips. “Let me see the infamous Master Thief in action.”

Garrett knew Altair was being sarcastic. Near no one knew his title here, and even less cared.

But the look upon his face, a look that said he knew Garrett was not practiced with the blade, and that he was loving it.

That was what made Garrett take the offered shortsword from an eager student.

That was what made him get into the ring.


	4. Points Yet to be Proven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Get moving then, Thief!" Altair shouts as he kicks his horse into action. "Should I really have to tell you this?"
> 
> Scoffing indignantly, Garrett kicks his horse into action, though perhaps a bit hardly, as the horse reared briefly enough for a guard to shout after him. "Halt!"

Comraderie  
Chapter Three.  
Points yet to be proven.

The student across from Garrett was tall. He stood almost two full heads above the thief, sword held at his waist and looking a bit worried after what had happened when his fellow trainees had faced Altair.

Perhaps that fear would be enough for Garrett, despite his lack of training, to come out victorious. He never was one to follow the rules after all. It wasn't as though now was any different. Although at this point there were very few rules he had to break.

It quickly seemed that the student had had enough waiting, charging forward with a degree of skill and inexperience. Of course, Garrett had been dodging and weaving his body more than any other technique he could have used in his many years of thieving. It took next to no effort to slither his body under the blade.

Emboldened by his success, perhaps, Garrett attempts a strike on the students blade, weakly worming his sword, held firmly in his left hand, underneath the students, only to find a foot landing atop it, heel of a white boot pressed firmly against the flat side and a longsword heading for him.

Again, Garrett dodges, the edge of the ring slamming unexpectedly into his back. The sword swipes by his left shoulder, and suddenly Garrett realizes it's time to call it off, quickly stepping onto the edge of the ring before darting into a shadow and promptly disappearing up a building.

Outside the ring, Altair scoffs, although a wicked smirk remains on his lips. The thief might be good at sneaking, but once he was found, he was without any means of protection or offense. He would care more if he did not honestly wish for the smaller man's demise.

He was confident in his own skills, and knew that he would have no use of the thief in the months to come. He had carried out missions like this before. He could do it again.

"I assume he hasn't been trained for wielding a blade." The instructer assassin offers. Half to himself, half to Altair.

"I would guess hie was trained as much as a weasel can be." Altair remarks a bit unneccessarily, drawing attention from one or two students. "I must go." He quickly adds, having gained no agreement from his fellows. "Peace be with you, Brother."

"And with you, Altair."

* * *

Garrett growled in irritation when he crouched above the training grounds, thoroughly hidden in the shadows, watching as the assassin-in-training glanced around, confused and searching for his previous opponent as Altair silently cackled in the background, the only indication being the movement of his shoulders.

He can't help but feel a small prickle of anger in his chest, eyes narrowing and watching one of the few people able to inflict such emotions upon him bid peace to his fellow and begin on his way.

A soft sigh and a quick check up on his possessions later- he worried he had dropped something in his mad dash for the shadows- he headed out, climbing down the other side of the tower, landing in a small outcropping of sparse grass.

Instinctively, Garrett jumps off of the cliff to a building a short jump from the cliff, having noticed a guard beginning to look in his direction. Shaking his head quickly, Garrett nearly flies his way across a small beam propped between two buildings, catching, catching sight of a familiar white clothed man making his way through the crowd and seeming perfectly content to continue on without his newly assigned companion.

Were it any other situation, Garrett would shrug this off. He normally knew exactly where he wanted to go and when he had to be there. But he never normally took jobs outside of the City. All he had was a rudimentary map he'd taken from a man with a basket held above his head. It wasn't likely to get him very far when dealing with assassins.

Evidentially, making one's way across the unknown rooftops was slower then Altair's brisk pace through the crowds. If this were taking place in Garrett's familiar surroundings, it would be an entirely different story. For one, there would be no crowds. Though, Garrett thinks with a smirk, Altair would entirely be able to pass as a man with the gloom.

Though no matter how much he now disliked the arrogant man, he still had agreed to this. He still needed to know about these Templars, and why they wanted the primal. Though he was a patient man. So long as these Templars remained an active threat, he could wait.

From atop his current perch, Garrett could quite easily make out most of the city. And, to his great annoyance, he could see Altair riding out on a pure white horse, a cocky grin on his face.

It certainly didn't matter to him how he got his horse, but rather the fact that he would have to do it very quickly to be able to catch up to Altair, as he was the one who knew the directions.

He didn't like to rush himself. It usually ended with more mistakes, and consequentially, a larger likelihood of premature death. Unfortunately, spped seemed to be a necessity at this point in time.

On the more fortunate side of things though, it took hardly a throw of a clay bottle to distract the guards inside the gate. This would not have happened, had Garrett not seen his previously stolen horse in a wagon, being carried to a foul smelling ditch. Of course, now was no time to be reminiscing. Not when he was sliding himself into the sadle of a spotted gray mare who seemed much too calm about the stranger on her back.

"Hup." Garrett softly says, the horses ears having to perk just to catch what he said before moving at the soft command of a tug on the reins. He briefly heard an irritated huff of the guard as the horse settled into a brisk gait.

It took a bit of time- time spent examining his surroundings- before he caught sight of his ridiculously brightly clothed companion.

"And here I'd thought I'd gotten rid of you." That irritating voice says, cocky and condescending.

"Mature." Garrett retorts, sloppily getting his horse into position walking alongside Altair's steed. "I suppose next you'll remark on the state of my weight, or the rust on my arrows."

Altair replied only with a scoff. "Be quiet and keep your hands to yourself on the road, Thief." He spits out angrilly. "I don't need anymore trouble from the guards."

"Worry not." Garrett replies, sounding a bit more civil then before. "I can easily be a ghost when I have to be."

"Of course." Altair continues in his rude tone. "Because a thief is going to be anything but."

The assassin was met with nothing but silence. And he was once again given another reason to feel the deep seated prickle of hatred in his bosom. The thrice damned filthy thief, who seemed to hold himself in such high regard, who never raised his voice above a soft speaking tone. Who was sloppily leading his likely stolen horse alongside the assassin's own.

Everything about the slight man set off an emotion within Altair that kept tempting him to do nothing more then to strangle him with his ridiculous cowl. Even the fact that the thief wore all black reinforced every bias he had against him.

"You there!" A voice shouts, a guard stepping out in front of Altair and Garrett's path. "Where are you two headed?"

Garrett looks to be ready to get off his horse and run off. Quickly rolling his eyes, Altair tosses his sword, the blade burying itself in the guards skull as the assassin deftly gets off his horse, snatching the sword back before the body hits the ground.

"Altair!" Garrett hisses through clenched teeth, though does not get to continue.

"Stop you two!" Another guard yells as Altair returns to his horse.

"Get moving then, Thief!" Altair shouts as he kicks his horse into action. "Should I really have to tell you this?"

Scoffing indignantly, Garrett kicks his horse into action, though perhaps a bit hardly, as the horse reared briefly enough for a guard to shout after him. "Halt!"

Though it seemed a foolish idea for him to even try commanding such a thing. And it seemed that the guard knew this as well, as the moment Garrett's horse moved to follow Altair, he chased after them on foot.

It was hardly a moment before Garrett realized that he would not be able to keep pace with Altair. The man was an experienced rider, while Garrett had only had one other experience on a steed before 2 days ago.

Unfortunately, word seemed to run fast among guards, as Garrett soon found himself with guards coming to join the chase from all sides.

Years of experience as a thief, though, had prepared him for moments like this. When he had to think on his feet- or, in this case, horse. This was certainly not the only time he had been in a situation like this, but it certainly was one of the most severe.

It certainly was panicking to the small thief, that he was surrounded and unstable in his mode of transport. Though certainly not enough to forget that he had the primal's power at his fingertips. He would inevitably never use the primal itself, but the shard within his eyes was beyond useful.

The whole world lit up. To a degree in which Garrett let out a small groan of pain. Even as it had been beforehand, he had felt the need to shield his eyes. Now...now he could hardly tell what was within sight anymore.

A quick reminder to himself that the guards remained but footsteps behind his fleeing steed, Garrett purposefully blinked, his eyes losing it's glow and his sight returning to normal, although a slight aching glow remained.

With the choice of using the primal to assist him gone from his options, Garrett casts his gaze ahead and around himself. A low-hanging window ledge, a decorative vine cover, a board-like wall decoration made of overlaying small boards a short jump from it. A perfect place for the claw to make itself useful.

So he stood in his saddle, even knowing the risk of him being a larger target. Should all this go according to plan, he would not be a target at all very soon.  
It hardly took a hop from his horses' back to reach the window, landing impeccably before turning to jump to the vine decoration.

His feet had hardly left the sill before a hard object hit the back of his knee, skewing his direction and distracting him from getting the claw from his side. Hardly was he able to grab hold of it with his hands, remembering why he had avoided doing this when he was without the claw. Even holding his own below average weight was forcing his hands into very sharp crannies that were bound to leave painful sores.

Looking down, he was quickly able to catch sight of a guard rummaging in the ground, bringing up a round, dirty stone. It was no shocking decision that Garrett brought the claw up as fast as he could, splintering wood down on himself as the claw grabs a mouthful of the decoration before Garrett tugs himself over the edge, feeling the sharp impact of a stone on his lower back as he disappears over the edge of the building.

Unconsciously, Garrett winced at the bright light and overall lack of shadows as he scans his surroundings. With a little push from the sound of the guards setting up a ladder, Garrett decides to climb the tower across from him. Perhaps he was a bit influenced by his comfort taken in heights.

Luckily, it seemed the fashion of architecture in this land was much different then that in Garrett's city. While he may have been more at home climbing through windows rather than climbing up walls, he was still very capable. Especially now that there were ledges, loose bricks and outlaying decoratives to grab hold of.

It didn't take him long, then, to make his way up the steep wall. He didn't even need the claw again. All of these objects he'd used to climb were not even far enough away to merit taking it from his belt.

Although, once at the top, Garrett realized this action could definately be a large mistake on his end. He could hear the guards sloppily clawing their way up what he had just bounded.

He would have chastised himself for being so alarmed, but he was not. It took hardly more then a blink and a sigh before he ran to the edge, looking for any way he might remove himself from his current, rather unfortunate situation.

There was nothing in sight, and suddenly Garrett worried that he had gotten himself killed. He certainly could still try and fight his way out of this, but as was demonstrated to Garrett before, the people had much greater knowledge of swordarms than he did.

"Halt, murderer!" A guard yells as he and his companion step up onto the same ground as Garrett. As he's confronted with them, Garrett cannot think of anything other than the many internal curses he was growling out in Altair's name.

Completely on instinct, and perhaps a bit of whim, Garrett tosses one of the four choke arrows at the floor- or rather, roof -underneath the guards feet, a tight waved flinch washing through them before they kneel over, coughing and tearing up.

Again, Garrett cast his gaze over what he could see, the dry dust y town before him all so different from what he normally would live of thieve in. It was kind of off-putting. Suddenly looking amogst different settings for completely different things.

Not a moment too soon, a large cart of hay catches Garrett's eye. Normally the only thing they used hay for in his city was the contents of a poor man's bed. And perhaps to cover a gloom victim.

But the fact it was considered bedding stuck out to the thief. While he wasn't normally one for risky moves, he knew the arrows effects would not last much longer.

So he jumped.

* * *

Altair could not contain the short cry of shock that broke from his lips as he felt a body land on him. He had not had any amount of trouble with the guards. He'd left his horse on the other side of this building, then ran and jumped directly into this carriage of hay. None of the guards had seemed to be the wiser. But before he can turn and unsheath his blade, he finds a small fingerless gloved hand pressed to his mouth.

Just from the look of the leather, Altair could tell it was Garrett. Honestly, he had hoped that the thief would be caught and subsequentially delimbed. But it appeared luck was not on his side, as the thief had not even missed the landing and broken his legs as his imagination quickly conjured up.

"Keep quiet, you fool." Garrett says lowly, not growling or anything. Just his breathy voice dropping naturally deep.

Little more than a grunt replies to the thief's command, as Altair shoves his hand from his face a bit more violently then necessary before turning to face the dark figure who was pressed down onto him from above.

Now essentially trapped, Altair could not move much more than his head, neck, and shoulders. As was to be expected by the both of them.

Unfortunately, the more Garrett attempts to keep himself further from sight, the more he squished himself up against the irate assassin. They both came to the conclusion that they should not begin another argument at this point in time. With the guards literally a breath's width away from them, it was no time to be behaving like children.

And so they both attempted to focus on something that did not involve the other, as it would do little more then reawaken the simmering anger in them.

Their gazes always wound up returning to one another though. Altair suddenly, and against his will, found himself remembering that this was the first time he had seen the older man's face. Not only did the thief keep his face hidden, but he had generally been behind Altair since they left Al Mualim's study.

Not only was he now without the scarf across his face, evidentially loosened by the fall, but now he was close enough to make out any distinguishable features he might have.

Really, nothing much stood out from his face besides his heterochromic eyes and the large scar across the right side. His face was dark, his skin incredibly pale -almost to the point of becoming mildly translucent- baby faced and gaunt with quite a bit of kohl spread over his eyes that seemed perhaps a bit smudged, likely due to the sun beating down on them -as even Altair had to admit it was currently quite warm- all day.

Suddenly, the two both flinch as a large clatter sounds off near them, Altair scooting himself a bit further back when Garrett's eye glows bright blue, illuminating the oppresive dark yellow surrounding them.

"Really, boy?!" A gruff voice yells, obviously irritated. "Dropping your blade?! We have killers to apprehend!"

Altair and Garrett both sigh in relief, relishing their current safety. They both now knew that it was now or never, as soon enough, their shroud of invisibility would end.

"Get your horse and meet me at the outskirts of the eastern exit." Altair commands, softly shoving Garrett back -though only due to his worry about their level of sound.

Garrett, for his part, holds his irritation about this whole situation down, nodding silently, though still shooting the assassin a glare. Even if he is not standing at an angle in which the recipient of said glare can now see it.

* * *

Altair could not help the taunting smirk that came to his lips as he could tell that the thief was not pleased with his actions. Though in Altair's mind, Al Mualim barely had the right to judge his actions. Most of the reason he had obeyed his orders until now due to his loyalty to the order's belief. That and the influence of his power, so much so that he could easily order Altair's death, among many other unfavourable things.

Perhaps that was enough though, now that Altair had literally felt his last breath, had seen his death waiting for him.

Perhaps...perhaps it was time to buck up and return to his work. No matter how demeaning it was. Though that certainly did not mean he would pretend to be honoured by this duty along the way.

He supposed maybe he had been a bit childish about this whole situation. Though he had certainly had good reason the be. Left to do an apprentice's work with a common thug who did not so much as know the rules of the order, and yet had earned the respect of his master, something Altair had not earned in all his many years he had devoted to him his service.

Though the master had given the thief his respect, that had no reflection on Altair's own opinion, and to him the thief would never be more than a simple rat, scurrying around for spare scraps from people above him.

It was not as though Altair had no sympathy for those who were not nobles, and could not afford to sit above the alleyway, fat and content off of their riches.

But this thief did not seem to be someone who was living on his last legs. He was rolling in the riches that came from his stolen goods.

Perhaps now was not the best time to remain trapped in thought though, as he could practically sense the guards drawing closer to his location. Luckily, his horse had not strayed far from where he had left it, hardly having to move ten feet before it was found a suitable source of shade and grass.

"Come on then."Altair mutters to his steed as he tugs it along, too wary to get on it's back while the guards were on high alert. "Maybe if we're lucky, the thief will have a sword in his back."


End file.
